


we were young

by VerdantMoth



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Death from Old Age, Domestic Avengers, Established Relationship, Established Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Grief/Mourning, Growing Old, Lonely Steve Rogers, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Problems with the Serum, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Unaging Steve Rogers, hurts like hell, soft stony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:34:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25321738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: And besides, no one else knew okay? They didn’t know how the serum would last and linger and adapt.Tony tells him, “It’s almost like a virus. If they made us healthy and strong and immortal. But it’s learning. Dad was smart, but this virus might be smarter than he was.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 53





	we were young

Thing is, Steve was _young_. He was foolish and hopeful and so so earnest, but he was mostly just _young_.

And besides, no one else knew okay? They didn’t know how the serum would last and linger and adapt.

Tony tells him, “It’s almost like a virus. If they made us healthy and strong and immortal. But it’s learning. Dad was smart, but this virus might be smarter than he was.”

Bucky’s is smart too. Not as smart, Steve thinks. Because Bucky sniffles with a cold and there are the first fine lines around his eyes.

But smart.

Thing is, it _is_ a virus. Steve believes this. He didn’t always, but he’s watching Peter, watching his body fill out and his face go lean.

Watching age gently soften his smile and sharpen his shoulders. Watching Peter hit thirty five, _look thirty five_.

Steve is watching Natasha, graceful as ever but creaking, slowing. Clint, moves like an old rocker, worn through use.

Not that Steve ever saw a rocker that could shoot a squirrel outta an old oak from any distance like Clint.

Mostly though, Steve is watching Tony.

“C’mon,” he says gently. “It’s getting cold.”

“A little longer,” Tony begs. But his lips are blue, his hands are blue, and he’s so stiff. Bucky gentle lays a hand over Tony’s.

“It’ll wait another day, Stark,” Bucky chides.

Steve watches Tony unbend himself, a slow process full of groans and pops and huffed breaths. It takes both soldiers to help him when he wobbles. 

“I used to spend days awake,” Tony grumbles. “But coffee doesn't work anymore.”

Bucky snorts. “Pretty sure you’re ninety percent coffee, Stark.”

“It’s cold,” Steve reiterates. Because it is, even if he can’t feel the wind nipping at his cheeks, or the ice sloshing in his boots. “Cold always makes folks sleepier than normal.” ‘Cause he can remember on snow blanketed cliffs, watching the men huddle under too-thin blankets. Remembers him and Bucky taking turns in the crowds, trying to radiate their extra heat.

“That’s all it is, Tony, it’s cold,” Steve says firmly. “Let’s get inside by the fire, heat some stew.”

-

Tony sleeps more than Steve thinks he ever did, probably even as a kid. It bothers Steve. 

“You used to sleep like that,” Bucky tells him once, half a lemon cookie dangling from his mouth.

“I was sick,” Steve snaps. 

“You were _human_ ,” Bucky shrugs.

Steve doesn’t mean to crack the table, but he does. 

Tony eyes him when he comes down, but he’s quiet. He settles himself into Steve’s lap on the couch.

He’s skinny in Steve’s hands. Boney, the way Steve must’ve felt to his Ma so many decades ago. “You need to eat more,” Steve tells him.

“I eat plenty,” Tony says. But he snuggles into Steve’s chest, rest his head there. He’s asleep pretty quickly, and Steve takes the time to lift his tough, calloused hands.

There are scars over the knuckles, splits in the nails. They feel like leather, look like it too. These hands. 

They have built and destroyed and cradled, and Steve has felt them _everywhere_ , has kissed them and fought them.

He wants to draw them, wants to cast them in gold. 

He never wants to let them go.

-

“My da never went grey,” Bucky says idly. He’s tugging at 

“Your ma was grey before I met you,” Steve laughs.

Tony is quiet, contemplative. “I don’t know if my parents would’ve gone grey.” 

Steve tugs an ash-black lock. “Probably not, since you haven’t.”

Tony smiles at him, but it’s distant. _Reminiscent_ , Bucky calls it. _Lost_ , Steve thinks.

“Ma said Pa would’ve never gone grey,” Steve suddenly remembers. “She said the one time she met his family, his pa and grandpa both still had golden hair.”

“That explains your golden hair,” Tony says brightly. “I was wondering how much the serum could change genetics.”

No one says anything, but Steve knows it’s not just the serum.

-

Tony’s always been smaller than Steve. These days, only Thor and Bucky, and sometimes Bruce as the Hulk can compete. 

But Tony’s always been smaller, shorter. So it takes Steve a while to notice. Tony is _tiny_ now. “You need to eat more,” Steve worries. “And maybe take more breaks, walk on the beach.”

He’s rubbing Tony’s back, some kind of funky smelling menthol cream that Tony _swears_ helps sooth his aches. But he can feel each knob of his spine, feel the cut of his shoulder blades and his elbows. His knees dig scars into Steve's heart, when they bump against him.

“I’m just not hungry these days,” Tony says quietly. 

“You need to see a doctor.”

-

They get looks wherever they go. Sometimes it’s people who remember the Avengers. Remember the aliens and the Nazis and the Snap. Remember a group of ragtag heroes struggling to save them all.

Mostly though, it’s the _difference_ people are staring at.

‘Cuz Steve? He might look thirty if he lets his beard go and puts on his comfy sweaters. It's a young thirty, even in his loafers.

But all the magic and science in the world can’t stop Tony’s decades from showing, even if he looks a good eighty.

Dr. Stef pulls him aside in a steril building that smells the worst kind of familiar. “He needs to slow down, Steve. He’s not as young as he used to be, and there’s not much more we can do for his heart. I don’t think there’s anything he could do either.”

She gets a look in his eye, one his Ma used to see twice a year at minimum. “You guys need to start preparing, Steve.”

“No, he’ll be fine. He just needs a break.” 

She puts a hand on his elbow. “Steve, you can’t stubborn this away like monsters and villains. For everything Tony has been through? He shouldn’t still be here. But he is.” 

“That’s proof,” Steve starts.

“Love won’t hold him here forever,” Stef cuts him off. “Start letting him know it’s okay to go.”

-

Clint passes, and Bucky runs. 

The funeral is a small, quiet affair, just as he wished. It makes Steve itchy though, makes him want to run. Punch something.

Tony leans into him by the grave, and Steve can’t tell if it’s to help him stay up, or if it's for comfort. 

Or if Tony has just finally learned to sleep standing up.

“You should go find Bucky,” Tony tells him later. He’s sitting up on their bed, glasses slipping off his nose as he tries to fiddle with some robot. His hands are shaking too bad for the small wires though, and Steve kinda thinks maybe he needs stronger glasses too. 

“He’ll come back,” Steve says. He gently takes the robot and sets it to the side, pulls Tony down next to him. 

“He needs you.”

Steve doesn’t say it out loud, as he strokes Tony’s hair, but Tony? Tony needs him more.

-

He goes to find Bucky. Tony bullies him into it, complains about Steve being too loud and too present. “Just let me finish this experiment in peace okay?” Tony snaps. 

Steve lets the door slam behind him, and he’s angry.

All he’d wanted was to _help_. Grab things so Tony didn’t need to get up off the stool as much. Weld things when the torch got too heavy. 

He’s also, secretly, afraid to leave Tony’s side. 

“Cough won’t break?” Bucky says when Steve finds him in the bodega coffee shop he and Clint used to frequent.

“Yours neither,” Steve realizes. 

Bucky looks _old_. Not Tony or Clint old. Just worn old. Like.

Like a favorite jacket worn to death. 

Like that one chipped mug no one ever throws away till it shatters.

Bucky looks shattered. Or just about. “Thor’s gonna take me off world,” Bucky tells him. His voice is steel, even if his eyes are raging oceans. “He’ll let you know when to come.”

-

Thing is, Steve was _young_. 

And he was never supposed to survive anyway. He was always going to die young. He'd maybe thought all of him would be young, not just his body.

But, thing is, Steve never thought he’d have to worry about someone else dying first. Never learned how to say goodbye ‘cause he’d never needed the words.

Now though, he’s staring at a row of markers, one fresh dug and dark. 

Tasha stands beside him, as best she can with her cane holding the little weight of her frail body Steve isn’t. “What’re you gonna do?” She asks softly. 

Steve doesn’t know. “Maybe go see Bucky off world. Travel some with Thor.”

They don’t admit it, that Thor doesn’t travel much anymore. 

Even gods have expiration dates it seems. 

“I can’t stay in the tower, or out at the lake,” Steve chokes out. “I can’t stay in this city. It’s too small, too empty without him. Them.” _You_ , he doesn't add. Because her name will be added soon.

Tasha pats his arm. 

“You should,” he begins. 

“I don’t want you there when I go, Steve,” she says gently. 

No one has. No one does. “Peter will find you when it’s time.”

“It’s not fair.” Not fair to Peter, to always herald death. Not fair to Steve to be denied the things he doesn't even know how to say.

Not fair of the universe to have taken so fucking much from them, and still take more.

Tasha kisses his cheek, and then a nurse comes to help her return to the home she stays at. Steve stands over Tony’s grave and he thinks, _I was young, and foolish, but I loved you enough for all the lifetimes I’ll live. I hope if nothing else, you knew this._


End file.
